Six weeks later #3
Arthur hardly knew what he was objecting to. To having to choose. To whatever he chose popping the shining, golden bubble
of his dreams, leaving him with rubbery scraps that no longer resembled what he’d imagined.
“You care about him,” Charlotte said, “and he cares about you. And if for any reason things don’t work out—you’ll always have
a home with us, you know.”
They stayed for several more days. Each time someone (usually Elspeth) suggested it was time to move on, Arthur begged off
for increasingly weak and ridiculous reasons. Charlotte shook her head but let it stand.
Elspeth, however, grew increasingly belligerent.
“Not that this ain’t nice,” she said at supper one night, in a voice of extreme begrudging, “but it’s only going to get colder
the longer we stay. Maybe the forest is healed, but that don’t mean we want to be caught traveling through it in the dead
of winter because you won’t shack up with your boyfriend and you won’t leave him, neither.”
Arthur flushed. Luckily, Ira had stepped out for more firewood, so he didn’t hear her comment. Perhaps equally luckily, he
returned before Arthur could sputter out yet another half-hearted protest to their continuing on to Port Lorne.
Long after everyone else had fallen asleep, Arthur sat in his armchair and gazed into the stove’s glowing depths, thinking about Ira and his family and the empty cottage back in Seacliff and the oak tree he was in now and the house in Port Lorne he’d soon live in unless he decided otherwise.
In the other armchair, Ira shifted. He’d fallen asleep after listening to Arthur read several chapters of a romance novel.
Although the read-aloud had been Ira’s request, Arthur had insisted on choosing the book himself lest Ira choose the one with
the monster love interest.
A strand of hair fell into Ira’s eye as he shifted again without waking. Arthur tucked it back into place. He loved Ira’s
hair.
When the family left the next morning, Arthur didn’t go with them.
He removed the rest of his things from the wagon, though Sasha stomped her feet and told him, repeatedly, that he had to go.
“Penny won’t go without you,” she said tearfully, tugging the goat toward him to prove it. “See?”
“Wheest, my little bug.” Crouching before her, Elspeth unwound her arms from the disgruntled goat’s neck. “With your uncle
here, don’t you know how much more often you’ll be able to visit? Think of all the things Ira might show you, foxes’ dens
and robins’ eggs and all sorts. And your mam won’t even be here to tell you no.”
Sasha glared at the adults but made no attempt to drag the goat anywhere else. “I guess.”
“You can visit all the time,” Arthur said anxiously, hoping saying it would make it so. “Anytime you want.”
“Even when I’m supposed to be in school?”
An affirmative would clearly make her less resistant to the idea of her uncle’s no longer living with them, but Arthur couldn’t
bring himself to respond in a way he knew would never fly with her mother.
“We’ll see,” Charlotte said.
When his luggage was safely in the house, and the goat back in the wagon, Arthur kissed them all and hugged the children tight. Sasha clung to him like she’d never let go. He lifted her into the wagon and unwound her arms from his neck, kissed Jonas’s forehead, and shook Elspeth’s hand.
“You’re welcome anytime,” Elspeth said. “So’s you know.”
He nodded.
Charlotte was last. He hugged her longer and tighter than was strictly necessary before helping her up next to Elspeth. She
gripped his hand tight.
“I love you,” she said in a wobbly voice.
His was wobblier still, but he managed, “Love you, too.”
Elspeth flapped the lines. Maurice shook his head and plodded across the swinging bridge.
The wagon trundled off. Arthur ran after it, tripping over rocks and getting whacked in the face by branches and followed
by a magnificent red stag with a scarred eye and a twisted leg. He ran until he was out of breath, then skidded to a halt,
wheezing, and waved madly. In the rear of the wagon, the children waved madly back, crying and calling out. Charlotte turned
around in her seat to gaze at him. Arthur smiled at them tearfully until the wagon was swallowed up in the autumnal finery
of the forest.
Beside him, the stag shivered into a man.
“Are you all right?” Ira asked.
Arthur wiped his eyes. “I will be, with you. It’s different. That’s all.”
“Is that all right?”
Arthur threaded his fingers through Ira’s. Ira kissed his knuckles.
“I’ve been waiting for different my whole life,” Arthur said.
They headed back to the vale hand in hand. Above them, the canopy cracked and groaned in a wind rising off the sea. Ira grimaced;
his limp increased as they walked.
Arthur slipped an arm around him. He liked Ira’s weight and warmth against him. The way Ira needed him, like he needed Ira.
“Your leg?”
Ira nodded. “Storm’s coming.”
The wind whisked through the understory, making them shiver. Above, the autumn sky was silver with clouds. Promising something
new and different. Promising change.
Arthur smiled and kissed the side of Ira’s head.
“How exciting,” he said.
The End